Where Bessie pees

It's my pasture and I'll peen if I want to
London, ON
July 2008
This photo originally shared on Instagram

On a blisteringly hot July day a bunch of years ago, I got on my bike and pointed it toward the agricultural hinterlands just to the north of our suburb. My mission: Find cows.

As you can see from the photo, I succeeded. Not too far up the road, I found a herd of particularly friendly Bessies* hanging out in a paint-by-numbers pasture.

What I hadn't planned on was one of them peeing in the middle of the shoot.

The lesson is, I think, a simple one, and it's stuck with me ever since I stood on the other side of the fence that day: Plan all you want, but the universe will always write its own story. It may not be the story you originally intended, but it's just as likely it'll be even more worth sharing when you get back. Just roll with it and revel in whatever happens to play out.

I'll never know why Bessie #8 peed as soon as I pointed my lens at her, and I'm reasonably certain she had no clue, either.

But I'm glad she did, because an otherwise pastoral scene became something else entirely. Something even more worthy of a smile every time I've thought about it since.

I think I need to point my bike north in search of cows again. Maybe Bessie #8 is still around. Maybe she has another surprise in store for me.

* Every time I encounter a cow, I call her, "Bessie". I don't know why I assign terms of endearment to farm animals, but it has always felt like a fun thing to do. Just add it to the what-makes-me-odd.

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